


Two Fallen Coconuts

by thecookiemomma



Series: Tea and Pineapples [4]
Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010), NCIS: Los Angeles
Genre: Crossover, Family, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-15
Updated: 2011-07-15
Packaged: 2017-10-21 10:10:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,672
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/pseuds/thecookiemomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's G's turn to talk to Steve.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Fallen Coconuts

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a conversation on Twitter about not using "thought" words in sentences. Which also brought up Mark Twain's rules for writing. I tried to use some of those in this piece. I hope it isn't too different from its predecessors to be disjointed. I thought it appropriate that the change came in G's piece. He's always unique. ;) [Here's](http://chuckpalahniuk.net/workshop/chucks-essays-2004-6) the piece from "The Cult" to explain what I mean.
> 
> The title refers to the fact that both men are separated from their families.

Callen sighed, shifted again on the deck chair, and gave up. He opened his eyes to watch the sun rise, restless and awake. He draped an arm over his head, trying to find a comfortable position. The aches of jet lag clung to him like the sand in his shoes. He gazed out across the ocean, eyes widening slightly at the colors streaming across the water. It would be so easy for him to go right back to sleep, but duty called. He lay there still for a few moments, allowing the sun to lighten the sky a little more, then he groaned and stood. A memory of another beach and another time pressed in, but he pushed it away quickly.

He ambled toward the ocean, digging his toes into the sand. After looking around to make sure that he was alone, he stripped down to his boxers and waded into the ocean. The salty water washed him clean enough for the day and shocked him fully awake. He took a couple laps out just past where his toes could reach, then made his way back to the chair to dry off and dress in the day's clothes.

Sam was already awake, of course, working on cooking something up for all of them. Callen sniffed the air appreciatively. “Smells good, Sam. Whatcha makin' us?”

Sam grinned. “Who says I'm makin' you anything, G? Maybe I'm only lookin' out for Number One.” He flipped the omelet and reached over to grab a plate sitting right near the stove.

“Could be, but I don't see Hetty anywhere yet.” Callen's grin matched his partner's, and he held out his hand for the plate.

“Nuh-uh. This one's for me. Next one's for you. I'm makin' 'em a certain way for each person. So, siddown and shaddup.” Sam raised the plate, deftly stepping out of G's reach.

“Sit down and shut up? Really? Is that any way to talk to your partner?” Callen drew out the questions, voice raising on the end, teasing his partner.

“For you, yes.” Sam's matter of fact tone elicited chuckles. “What? You gonna deny you've got a mouth sometimes? Almost as bad as Deeks.”

“Speaking of our dear detective friend, how did it go last night? Does he snore?” G leaned in, watching Sam fix the omelet just the way G liked it.

“No. He slept. Whole night through. I'll say that for the boy. Once he's out, he's out.” Sam pointedly referred to Callen's poor sleeping habits as he grabbed another handful of shredded cheese.

“Right. Well, I suppose that's a good thing.”

“Damn right it is.” Sam fell silent, attention on his cooking, and G turned to see what he could do to help. He rummaged around in the fridge, pulling out a couple things to drink.

“Who got us groceries, Sam?”

“Chin, I think. Not sure he knew what we ate. There's some of our favorite stuff in there.” Sam grabbed another plate, preparing to pull the eggs off the fire in time.

Callen caught his eye, information passing between them without a word, then they both nodded, grinned, and said, “Hetty.”

“You called, Misters Callen and Hanna?” The woman's voice echoed from the other room, increasing in volume as she moved toward the kitchen herself. She was already dressed and coiffed, ready to start the day.

“Morning, Hetty. We were just commenting that maybe you had a hand in helping Chin pick out what we've got in the fridge.” G, as usual, ran interference at first.

“Is that so, Mister Callen? One would think you were an agent hired to solve crimes.” Hetty affected a slightly acerbic tone, but offered a bright smile. “Good morning. I trust you slept well, gentlemen?”

“Yes, ma'am.” Callen grinned, and rolled his neck, popping the joints loudly.

“Don't do that, G! You know I hate when you do that. It's bad for your neck.” Sam barked, holding out his plate of food. “You want an omelet, Hetty, or you want those fancy egg things? I can do either. Or both if you're really hungry.”

“Oh, an omelet is quite fine, Mister Hanna.” Hetty pulled out a seat, gracefully settling herself in to wait for her breakfast.

G busied himself with finding them drinks, chuckling the whole while.

* * *

Callen pulled the contents of his pockets out, sticking them into the bowl on the conveyor belt. He tapped his toe a couple times, just enough to express some of his extra energy, but not enough for the guards to take notice and question him further than necessary. One guard looked at him strangely when she checked his badge, but he merely smiled, gathered his things, and walked toward the room where he'd meet Commander Garrett.

“Didn't you guys just come talk to him yesterday?” The same guard walked alongside him, pulling out her keys to unlock the door. “Some big black guy.”

“My partner.” Callen dryly responded, tapping his toes again as she fiddled with the lock. “Why are you working here instead of at the women's prison?”

She arched an eyebrow at him, and her eyes narrowed. “Like I've never been asked that before. Because there was a shortage of guys.” She straightened up, meeting him in the eye, yanking the door open with a well-muscled arm.

“I guess that makes sense.” He nodded. “I'll yell if I need you.”

“No. Don't. Button's right there. Either you or the prisoner can push it.” The woman ushered him into the room and closed the door behind him.

“Hey.” Lt. Commander Steven McGarrett stood just inside the other door, arms in chains in front of him, orange jumper a little too loose on his slender frame.  
“Hey. I'm Special Agent G Callen. Most people call me Callen.” He smiled, pulling out the steel chair on his side of the table and sitting down.

“Right. Callen. Look. I talked to …” Steve stepped forward quickly, dangerous even hobbled.

“You talked to my partner. Sam and I have very different ways of doing things. Like you and um, what's his name? Danno?” G watched the reaction to the use of his partner's name. Unsurprisingly, Steve's eyes narrowed and he leaned forward just a little more.

“You leave Danno out of this.” A fierce snarl of words precluded the man stepping back, leaning against the wall, and shuttering his expression.

 _Damn. Might not be the way to get him to talk. Sam had the shared experience of the SEALs..._ He stifled a grin and tried again. “Listen. Like I say, people call me Callen. The reason they do that is because my first name is a letter. A fucking letter. As far as I know.” He spoke bluntly, revealing more to this near-stranger than he had to any of his team intentionally. “I lived in thirty-eight foster homes in twelve years. The only thing I remember about my childhood before I entered foster care is getting a tin soldier on a beach. I only know that beach is in Romania because we had to go there to get Hetty's ass out of the fire. Have you ever met Hetty Lange?”

Steve had stopped staring blankly at the wall behind Callen. He'd lowered his gaze to look directly at the agent. “Henrietta Lange? She's still an agent? Wow.” He tried to pull his chained hands up to wipe at his face, sharp movements jerking as he met with limited success.

“Yeah. She's still kicking.” Callen rolled his eyes and reached into his pocket, pulling out his knife. He opened up a small compartment on the side, pulling out a set of cuff keys. “Here. Let's get those off you. We can put them back on before the guards come back.”

“Yeah, thanks. That'd help.” Steve held his hands out toward him, and Callen expertly popped them off his wrists.

“Sure. Now. Sit down, and let's talk. See, I think we can get this guy, but it's gonna take some careful planning.” He leaned forward. “The reason I told you all that crap about myself is that I understand. I understand not knowing things about yourself, about your family that everybody else seems to know – well, everybody else but the people who'd tell it to you straight. I know what it's like to have someone turn on you at the last minute, stealing all that information out of your hands.” He snorted, shifting the papers in his folder around, straightening them needlessly. “In fact, I got so close to finding everything out, knowing every single piece of information, and it blew up in my face. Fucking literally.” He lifted his eyes to catch the empathy in McGarrett's. “Yeah. It's kind of nice to talk to someone who _gets_ it. That there's nothing you won't do to find out, and damn the consequences.”

He paused, choosing his words very carefully. “But we almost lost Hetty, and I got to thinking.” Steve gazed intently at him, eyes and ears soaking up the information. “I can't keep chasing the past if it means I don't have a damn present to come back to.” He pulled his wallet out again, and showed Steve the tin soldier. The good luck charm seemed to be coming in handy for more than just moral support. “I've already lost my parents. If they're not dead, they weren't capable of taking care of me. I found out I lost a sister, too. Before I could remember her. I'm not going to lose the nearest thing I have to … what is it you guys call it over here? Omana? No, that's not right.” Callen tipped his chair back on two feet, twisting the soldier in his hands in a comfortable, familiar gesture.

“ _Ohana._ ” Steve nodded, whispering the words. “ _Ohana_ is family.”

“Right. Ohana.” G grinned, and set the toy soldier on the table between them: a marker of times past, and future promise. “So, tell me. What's it like growing up with a sister? Was she a pain in the ass?”


End file.
